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My Dog Days 

and Other Stories 

I LLUS T RA TED 











My Dog Days 

AND 

Other Animal 
Stories 




By ELIZABETH ADAMS 
v' WELLS 






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CONGRESS, 

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COPY 3.' 

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Copyright, 1901, by 

Elizabeth Adams Wells 

* 


REVIEW AND HERALD PUB, CO. 
BATTLE CREEK, MICH. 



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To All Who Recognize the 

ijPp ' 

Intelligence of Animals 




I 


Contents 

PAGE 

My Dog Days 15 

Bunny 44 

Canary Songs 59 

Cat Tates 87 

The Mitter’s Horse . . .105 

11 



















/ 

; ' 

' 












































■ 





























’ 













Illustrations 


By A. W. Peters 

PAGE 

Lyon ..... 

Frontispiece 

“ His Highness’ dog ” . 

16 

‘ ‘ Making straight for the house ” 

30 

‘ ‘ How every one laughed ” . 

• 39 

Little Brown Squirrel — Title . 

44 

“ Nuts so brown and sweet” 

. 48 

Bunny's shadow 

55 

Snow birds .... 

. 56 

Little Mary .... 

58 

Song bird .... 

61 

‘ ‘ One lone sparrow ” 

66 

Summer birds 

. 72 


i3 


Illustrations — Continued 


PAGE 


4 ‘ Little brown birds ” — Tailpiece 

83 

Bobby on the manger . 

. 86 

Pussy willows ..... 

88 

Bobby — Title .... 

• 89 

Cat Tails — Tailpiece 

103 

The Miller’s Horse — Title . 

. 104 

4 ‘ Gave my sympathy in silence ’ ’ 

120 

Bossie — Tailpiece . 

“ I was often driven by the miller’s 

. 148 

partner” . 

“ With long necks stretching sky- 

. 150 

ward ” 

‘ ‘ Brandished his huge nose toward 

156 

me” 

157 

Old Mill — Tailpiece 

170 


H 


My Dog Days 

A True Story 





t 


t€ I am his Highness* dog at Kew ! 

Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you ? ” 

Pope: On the collar of a dog he gave to the Prince. 







/ 
































































I 

At the time in which the events of 
my narrative took place, there stood by 
the banks of the Kalamazoo River a 
large old flouring mill, on one of the 
most picturesque sites in southern 
Michigan. Especially in summer was 
it a lovely spot ; surrounded by streams 
of clear water, running between grassy 
banks, and by groves of tall trees, where, 
in early morn, hundreds of birds sang 
a hallelujah chorus to the coming day. 
And at eventide, I have heard them 
say, the sunsets rivaled those of old 
Italy. 


19 


An experience told by one to whom it 
actually happened is usually far more 
interesting and attractive than when 
told second hand. Nor can I see any 
reason, dear reader, why the experience 
of a dog, told by himself, providing he 
be a truthful dog, may not also prove 
interesting. 

It may, or may not, be an unfortu- 
nate matter that the study of my an- 
cestral tree was sadly neglected, and the 
exact date of my birth never recorded. 
Howbeit, all that I know of myself up 
to that time, was told by the man who 
sold me to my young master’s father 
at the great mill of which I have al- 
ready spoken. I was then three weeks 
old, and was bom, so he said, of good par- 
entage, my mother being a fine shepherd, 
and my father a noble old bulldog. 


20 


My new master, whom they had nick- 
named “ Puddey,” was a fine, sturdy 
little fellow, then about nine years of 
age. He at once gave me the name of 
Lyon, and we immediately became fast 
friends, he having had for many months 
a great longing for a dog playfellow. 

Of course he readily believed all that 
the man said in my favor, and from 
that day, declaring me no ordinary dog, 
insisted on my having the best the 
house afforded, much to the dismay of 
his good mother, who, being a neat, 
thrifty housewife, found this addition 
to her family almost unendurable. 

I have been told that the first night 
in my new home was spent alone in the 
big mill, where a soft bed of oats had 
been made for me ; but my outcries 
during the night were so pitiful that it 


21 


was feared the rats were all but devour- 
ing me. My anxious master came early 
the next morning to carry me to the 
house, where he put me in bed with his 
good old grandmother. This I think 
is among my earliest recollections, and 
one which I shall always cherish. The 
dear little woman took me in her arms, 
and petted me very fondly, feeling, I 
suppose, sorry for a poor baby dog 
taken so young from its mother, and 
also, as I have since thought, because 
she loved my master so. She was a very 
nice-looking old lady ; in fact, I think I 
have never since seen such large, lumin- 
ous black eyes as hers, especially in one 
of her age. Thinking me hungry, she 
sent “ Puddey ” for milk, and fed me 
with a teaspoon exactly as she would 
have done a baby child. 


22 


“ Puddey” had two sisters nearly his 
own age, one of whom had eyes very 
like those of her grandmother. I men- 
tion this now, well remembering the 
day when we four had a debate founded 
on a statement of my young master, that 
my “ eyes were even more beautiful than 
hers, ” which ended in our not playing 
together for all of twenty-four hours. 
Of course, for once I could not agree with 
him, for although I had overheard others 
besides my master say very nice things 
about my “ great intelligent brown 
eyes,” I would not for a moment think 
them as lovely as a lady’s. However, 
this unhappy day was soon forgotten, 
and all went well with us, even the severe 
reprimands received from my master’s 
mother for the frequent tattered state 
of his trousers, for which I was directly 
23 


accountable, failing to eclipse our hap- 
piness, the summer days which followed 
being filled with endless fun and frolic. 

Then came the long winter time; 
weeks of snow and ice, with nothing 
noteworthy for narration, but full of 
sport for boys and dogs, and bringing 
much happiness to me; for although 
I was but a dog, I was treated with 
kindness and consideration by my 
master and all the family, and I knew 
that they were very fond of me. 

Nor was my education neglected, for 
while my master was very persevering 
in teaching me all the clever tricks an 
accomplished dog should know, his 
mother also gave me a very learned 
course in polite house-manners. In 
spite of the natural forgetfulness of 
youth, I proved quite apt, and often 
24 


pleased my lady with evidences of my 
good breeding, and by many a youth- 
ful feat worthy of riper years, endeared 
myself to my young master. 



25 



I grew rapidly, so that when spring- 
time came, although I was yet scarcely 
ten months old, I had gained my full 
height, which was, however, below the 
medium stature. I was not then what 
one would have called a handsome dog, 
having from such rapid growth acquired 
an appearance which I have often heard 
termed “ slab-sided/ ’ Hopeful friends, 
nevertheless, said I had a very intelli- 
gent face, and would in time be fine 
looking. This to one naturally ambi- 
tious was very encouraging, and upon 


hearing myself so kindly spoken of, I 
never failed to make a fresh resolve to 
be thoughtful, brave, and kind, that I 
might grow good as well as beautiful, 
and that my dear friends might never 
be disappointed in me. I regret to say 
that my resolutions were often forgot- 
ten, and many a time at this age did I 
bring distress to them as well as to 
myself by my heedlessness. 

One day in particular I remember 
well. It was one of the first warm days, 
and I had been since dinner bask- 
ing in the sun on the doorstep, watch- 
ing for the return of the children from 
school. I was eager for a romp, and to 
my pent-up spirits the time seemed long 
in waiting. Suddenly I grew quite rest- 
less, and standing up, looked about me, 
hoping to see some neighbor dog with 
27 


whom I might sport, or perhaps a cat 
to make miserable; even a brood of 
chickens to scatter would have proved 
a welcome sight ; but there were none of 
these. I stretched my lean legs, and 
again made an inspection. The sun 
was warm and bright, the air fresh and 
sweet, and overhead the sky one grand 
canopy of blue, while early birds sang 
from trees and bushes. 

Ah ! at the farther end of the garden 
a robin scratching for worms in the 
fresh-plowed earth ! Only a robin, but 
in the twinkling of an eye I was after 
it full speed. Of course I did not in- 
tend to harm the bird, still it was with 
much chagrin that I reached the spot, 
and found it had eluded me. Perched 
in a tree on a provokingly low branch, 
it looked down upon me with an expres- 
28 


sion of superiority in its beady little 
eyes, quite exasperating to one with 
my disposition to conquer. But to know 
when one is fairly conquered, and ac- 
knowledge it, is often quite as heroic 
as to conquer ; so with a wag of my tail 
and one loud bark to announce my sur- 
render, I continued my race in the 
garden. 

The earth was cool and spongy under 
my" feet, and as I circled round and 
round in the soft mud, I was full of 
glee, filled with the rapture of living in 
this glorious weather. Away I ran, 
over the loosened earth and under cur- 
rant bushes, stopping anon to roll over 
in the soft mud, only to speed on the 
faster. In circles and semicircles I 
went, fairly intoxicated with my mad 
race, and finally, making straight for 
29 




the house, rushed in at the open door- 
way. From room to room I flew, until, 
reaching the guest chamber, I landed 
on the spotless bed, making an ugly 
circle on its pure whiteness, and jump- 
ing to the floor again, only to carry the 
fine fluted covers with me. 

Alas ! what had I done ? My mas- 
ter’s mother had been house cleaning 
for a week, and only j ust that morning 
I had heard her speak with pride of 
her guest chamber. Just as I was 
about to collect my scattered senses, 
30 


her dismayed face appeared in the door- 
way, and I realized at that moment that 
“ fools rush in where angels fear to 
tread.” I did not attempt to flee, 
neither did I offer an apology, knowing 
well she was in no state to listen with 
any degree of candor, but received my 
reprimand in silence. I knew I had 
been bad, very bad, so that when she 
told me what I richly deserved, I still 
could say nothing. I knew that she, 
being a person prompt in execution, 
would suit the action to the word, and 
in less time than it takes me to tell 
you, I was made an example to all who 
in their rash enthusiasm think they 
gain pleasure in exciting pastimes. 

The punishment was merited, I own, 
still I was greatly chagrined ; and as 
several days passed before I had an 
3i 


opportunity of proving myself still 
worthy of the family affection, I be- 
came quite unhappy. 

One evening, however, as the family 
were at tea, an opportunity presented 
itself. I was napping on the rug in 
the dining-room, when suddenly I was 
aroused by the children crying, “ See ! 
see ! ” and looking up I beheld three 
large cats coming in at the doorway. 
Of course the children were delighted. 
Their father said, “ Some one must 
have made us a donation,” while their 
mother, looking distressed at the in- 
trusion, made the remark that she 
wished Lyon would carry them away. 
She did not address me directly, but 
being eager to serve her, I promptly 
proceeded to show my hospitality to 
strangers by dragging the cats one by 
32 


one out into the dooryard. They were 
very large and heavy, I well remember, 
for no sooner had I taken one to the 
dooryard than it returned to the dining- 
room, until to me the three cats seemed 
multiplied to twenty. Still I continued 
to speed the unbidden guests, till “ Pud- 
dey ” cried out, “ Bravo ! ” and his 
mother, patting me on the head, called 
me “ a good boy,” and I knew I was 
again restored to her favor. My master 
then put both arms around [my neck, 
and declared me the most knowing dog 
in all the country round. All this was 
very gratifying to my late wounded 
feelings, although why a dog should 
not be expected to know and under- 
stand has always been a puzzle to me. 

Have you not observed how often the 
most ordinary incident connected with 
3 33 


a dog’s life is looked upon with wonder- 
ment ? I have many times noticed it. 
For instance, in winter, I was in the 
habit of going to the mill to get warm 
whenever I could not gain an entrance 
at the house. The office where my 
master’s father usually sat being quite 
a distance from the mill door, it was 
necessary that I go around under the 
window, and bark loudly to attract his 
attention in order to gain admittance. 
I would then, of course, return to the 
entrance. Still never as I entered did 
I fail to hear some surprised comment 
on the instinct of dogs as having the 
appearance of reasoning. Instinct, 
indeed ! Oh, most noble and intelligent 
man, I acknowledge you as our supe- 
rior, for there are wise and noble men ; 
but pray, let me tell you, from out the 


wealth of my young observings, there 
are also dogs with wisdom ; and when I 
see a man still believing ns to be with- 
out the power to reason, I can but feel 
that were he himself more keen of in- 
sight, he could easily see that we prove 
our intelligence. Our tongues are 
bridled that we may think, and, dear 
friends, forgive if we also criticise. 



3 


35 


Ill 


In the following winter my master, 
being a very ingenious little fellow, 
fashioned a fine harness of leather for 
me, and I grew very strong drawing 
him about on his hand-sled. In fact, 
the muscles in my forelegs grew to 
such an enormous size as to be very 
noticeable ; so that in a few weeks from 
the time he began training me to serve 
as a pony, I could draw him about with 
perfect ease. 

The millpond, which was about a 
mile long, and perhaps one-half mile 
36 


wide, was our special delight, and many 
happy hours were spent on its smooth, 
icy surface. My master was very proud 
of me in my harness, and often coaxed 
his friends to take a ride with him. 

I remember one day a lady guest of 
his mother consented to ride, after much 
persuading on his part, and we all went 
to the millpond, it having been decided 
that a ride on the ice would be the 
nicest I could give her. When we 
came to the bank, the lady was care- 
fully tucked up on the sled. I was 
held until “ Puddey ” put on his skates^ 
and went to the opposite side of the 
pond. In the distance I heard his fa- 
miliar whistle, and away I flew over the 
glassy surface at a rate of speed which, 
if recorded, I am sure would have 
broken all former records. On we sped 
37 


over crackling ice and air-holes, giving 
that lady a ride she has surely never 
forgotten. However, I have never been 
quite sure that she enjoyed it, as it 
seemed to take a great deal of argument 
on the part of my master to persuade 
her to ride back again. But finally she 
decided to do so, thinking I would go 
slowly when leaving my master behind 
me. Usually this would have been the 
case, but the joy of the race was still in 
me, and as I turned to go back, I caught 
sight of my master’s father waving his 
arms to me from the other side, and the 
wildness of that return ! The sled was 
swaying from side to side, and so great 
was my speed that I could only check 
it by dashing to the top of the four-foot 
bank where my master’s father was 
standing. The lady seemed quite 


vexed, and during that ride appeared 
to have lost all confidence in both man 
and beast, considering her escape mi- 
raculous. I was beginning to learn that 
a dog’s best motives are seldom under- 
stood, so I tried not to be offended. 

My master had an old auntie living 
in the town some distance from us, 
who, on account of her dread of horses, 
seldom made us a visit. She was a tiny 
woman, and rarely went away from 
home, so that when one day my master 
made the announcement to his mother 
that Aunt Kate was coming to see her, 
she was very much astonished, espe- 
cially so when she heard that I was to 
bring her. 

How every one laughed at 
the picture we made as we 
passed through the streets. 

39 



v 


The little old lady in her old-fashioned 
bonnet and shawl, all curled up in 
the box on the sled, and “ Puddey ” 
trudging along at my head to insure 
her safe journey. She remained all 
day, and at evening returned as she 
came on the hand-sled. 

My master’s mother had never con- 
sented to ride with us, but one day, 
soon after I had carried Aunt Kate so 
nicely, she had an errand to the mill, 
and being tired, decided to accept our 
services. All, I think, would have been 
well, but when we were ready to start, 
instead of walking beside me, as I had 
expected, my master ran on before us, 
calling, “ Here Lyon, here Lyon, here 
Lyon ! ” which I had learned as a chal- 
lenge to catch him. For the moment 
I forgot my passenger, and sped after 
40 


him; around corners and over snow 
piles, until when I saw “ Puddey ’s ” fat 
legs run up the steps and into the mill 
door, I was frantic. Never before had he 
gotten so much the start of me. A large 
sleigh load of poles stood before the en- 
trance, but with “ Puddey ” standing 
there in the doorway my daring knew 
no bounds, so with not a moment’s 
warning and without slackening my 
speed an atom, I scaled the rough bar- 
rier between us, and carried my master’s 
mother safely into the mill with me. 
Yes, safely! Still, when she stepped 
out on the floor, there was an expres- 
sion on her frightened face which said 
plainly that she felt she had just been 
delivered by the hand of Providence 
from the yawning jaws of death. Al- 
though “ Puddey ” praised my skill in 


performing so daring a feat, I well 
knew my mistress had taken her last 
and only ride behind me. In fact, I 
overheard her say soon after, that in the 
future she should consider “ discretion 
the better part of valor,” and not con- 
found dogs with coach horses. 

Thus my days passed on, not per- 
haps unlike those of other dogs, for 
“ every dog has its day.” Still as I lie 
here to-night, thinking of my past life, 
it seems to me I have been an uncom- 
monly happy dog; and may no man 
say I have not been useful. 

The unusual enters into the lives of 
few of us, so mine may impress you as 
commonplace, especially as much is 
lost in translating my story from my 
own mystic language to that, dear by 
association, of my master. For — laugh 
42 


if you will — even a dog has moments 
in which this beautiful world seems 
made for him ; and he longs to break 
his canine fetters, and speak his better 
thoughts to man. 





Some years ago there stood near my 
country home an old apple tree, in the 
widespreading boughs of which there 
rested, oddly enough a small house, the 
summer retreat of a little friend. An 
ideal resting place, this miniature cot- 
tage, hidden away in its leafy bower, 
and surrounded in early June with sing- 
ing birds and sweetest blossoms, with 
overhead, peeping through the leafy 
screen, the blue sky. 

44 


There were seats built in the branches, 
and often would we climb the rude lad- 
4 der leading up into the tree, and sit for 
hours with reading and sewing, or per- 
chance but idly listening to the song 
birds, and watching our busy little 
friend frisking about, now in his house, 
now out among the sheltering branches. 

I trust it will make my story none 
the less interesting when I tell you 
that our friend was but a pet squirrel 
— a little brown squirrel with a bushy 
tail, and wise ways enough to surprise 
you. His home was only a wooden 
cage, about three feet square, fashioned 
somewhat like a tiny cottage, but with 
the customary wheel to serve as his 
gymnasium, which gave it much the 
appearance of a miniature mill with its 
olden-time water wheel. 

45 


It was amusing to watch the nimble 
little fellow, his fluffy tail waving like 
a gorgeous plume over his small back, 
while with rapid feet he plied the wheel 
until the shining rundles became one 
streak of light. 

For some unknown reason, Bunny 
seemed to have taken as great an aver- 
sion to neighboring hens as most people 
do, and performed with evident delight 
the self-imposed task of keeping them 
beyond our boundaries. His manner 
of doing this was quite droll. Often a 
group of these fowls (magnificent great 
Shanghais), searching for food in the 
cool, green grass, would collect on the 
ground beneath. Then would Master 
Bunny stretch himself on a limb di- 
rectly above them, apparently to bask 
in the warm sun, but in fact only wait- 
ing until they were all together and 
46 


busily scratching for food, when sud- 
denly he would drop, all fours downward, 
right in among them, and as quickly 
returning to a position of safety, would 
sit, oh, so erect, chattering his satis- 
faction at seeing the intruders scatter, 
panic-stricken, in all directions. 

While we were all much attached to 
the spry little fellow, he was the spe- 
cial pet and property of the one boy in 
our family. He had been presented 
to Nathan by a huntsman, who had 
captured him alive and unharmed in a 
trap set in the woods. The attachment 
between them was mutual, I think, for 
with all the freedom given him the 
squirrel seldom seemed inclined to leave 
the dooryard, and responded to his mas- 
ter’s loving care by displaying, when 
with us, none of that timidity so typical 
of his kind. 


47 


Mentioning the timidity of other 
squirrels as compared to the familiar 
audacity of our pet, sends my truant 
thoughts wandering away to the depths 
of the shady forest, to those shy, gen- 
tle creatures busy hiding away their 



winter store of nuts so brown and 
sweet, living their own life in their own 
way, in no wise interfering with the 
rights of others ; and to how they are 
in hourly peril because of those lovers 
of sport who with dog and gun make 
48 


desolate God’s woods and fields. Have 
they not enemies enough without 
man enlisting against them ? True, 
those merry huntsmen break no statute 
of man-made laws, still without a scru- 
ple they take innocent lives in the 
sight of him who seeth even the spar- 
row’s fall, and who from out the depth 
of his all-love and all-wisdom com- 
manded, “ Thou shalt not kill.” 

It is cruel sport. The love of life or 
the pangs of death may be strong in 
the least of these. There’s a truth in 
the words of the poet, — 

‘ ‘ Many a crime deemed 
Innocent in earth 
Is registered in Heaven.” 

Bunny had that enviable faculty of 
making friends. 


49 


At one time an uncle from southern 
New York visited us. He had never 
before seen so tame a squirrel, and was 
greatly amused when, on the first day 
of his visit, just as we had finished din- 
ner, Bunny came frisking into the din- 
ing room. How heartily he laughed 
when the little fellow, jumping to the 
table, secured a large slice of bread, and 
began nibbling it, looking so wise as 
he sat there erect, holding the bread 
in his forepaws, while his bright little 
eyes wandered from face to face. Fi- 
nally, discerning approval in the smile 
of the newcomer, he leaped to his 
shoulder, still holding the bread, and 
chattering amicably. Had the little 
diplomat divined ’twas a guest from the 
land of the chestnut-tree, he could not 
have proceeded more cleverly to install 

50 


himself in his good graces ; for shortly 
after our uncle’s return home, there 
arrived for Bunny a fine cask of chest- 
nuts. 

We spread them on the floor of an 
empty chamber, and our one regret was 
that Uncle John was not there to wit- 
ness Bunny’s delight as he frisked 
among them, often picking up one only 
to drop it for another, larger or finer. 
For a few moments he was bewildered, 
then intoxicated with the abundance; 
and then his provident nature asserted 
itself, and he began hiding them away 
in every conceivable place and corner. 
We even found them in the toes of 
our shoes. In fact, we were constantly 
discovering new places where the busy 
little fellow had stowed them away. 

That cask of chestnuts, indeed, re- 
51 


4 


suited in merry times for all of us. 
Nathan would put a handful of nuts in 
a place difficult for Master Bunny to 
reach, and then enjoy watching his 
adroit maneuverings in getting at them. 
One day he put a few in his trousers’ 
pocket. For a moment Bunny eyed 
him demurely ; then what a laugh 
went round as with no small effort he 
scrambled in, and triumphantly backed 
out, bringing a large chestnut with 
him. This, of course, delighted Nathan, 
who considered his pet an extremely 
sage little animal. 

A most unusual friendship existed 
between Bunny and our Tabby cat, 
the cause of which we may not have 
rightly discerned, but were wont to say, 
jestingly, that Tabby had fallen in love 
with Bunny on account of his beautiful 
52 


tail, having herself been born without 
one; or as our little girl, trying to 
explain this tailless condition as he- 
reditary, said to a lady who asked her 
why her kitty’s tail was cut, “ Don’t 
you know? Why, it’s perfectly nat- 
ural for it to have its tail cut off.” 
In fact, Tabby’s mother had also been 
a bob-tailed cat, and it seemed not 
improbable that Tabby should fancy 
Bunny as the possessor of that which 
she may herself have often longed 
for. 

However that may be, Tabby did 
seem fascinated with Bunny’s waving 
appendage. It was most amusing to 
watch her in their play spells, trying to 
catch it, Bunny, however, always keep- 
ing just out of reach. Sometimes he 
would stretch himself on the grass with 
53 


his tail waving a challenge. Then, as 
pussy sprang toward it, he would whisk 
away to another spot, only to repeat 
the antic again and again. 

At times when Bunny was confined 
in his cage, Tabby would go up into 
the tree, and reaching her paws through 
the bars, play with the squirrel in a 
most friendly manner, trying, it seemed, 
to help him pass pleasantly the hours 
of his imprisonment, and teaching, I 
think, quite a forcible lesson in brother- 
hood. 

Indeed, the harmony existing between 
this cat and the little animal so uni- 
versally considered his natural prey, 
seemed to me an expression of the love 
that each shared in the home, and that 
love we dimly realize to be but a faint 
shadowing forth of the All-Love. 

54 


Those there may be who from their 
lofty range of information will smile 
at the thought of gaining wisdom from 
our little brothers of the forest; and 
perhaps in many ways we are wiser. 
Who shall judge ? But let us not in 
our self-esteem ignore the many val- 
uable lessons to be learned from the 
busy little squirrel with its shy, gentle 
manners, but attune our hearts to the 
words of the poet : — 



“Thanks to the human heart by which we 
live, 

Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and 
fears. 

To me the meanest flower that blows can 
give 

Thoughts that often lie too deep for 
tears.” 

And — 

‘ ‘ In contemplation of created things 
By steps we may ascend to God.” 


55 






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V 


Prelude 


Hoping to make this great world a 
wee bit more cheery, I sing these few 
songs ; and pray you will pardon a 
small canary, if perchance, his twitter- 
ings prove more interesting to himself 
than to others. ’Tis often so, even 
with human birds, I have noticed. 
Human, did I say ? Well, let it pass. 
It were small use trying to prove there 
is aught human in the heart beating 
under the downy breast of a pet canary. 
Still, but a kind word or a humane 
act will stir the love of goodness in that 
small heart till it pours forth its sweet- 
est song of joy and gladness. 


Song First 

It is evening. Between my cage and 
the frost-etched window a thick curtain 
is drawn, shutting out all the cold and 
darkness. 

After a long day of song with, at the 
close, a fat seed supper, I gently sway in 
my tiny swing, and am content ; and, 
swinging, watch the bright faces at the 
table beneath me, listening to the merry 
table talk and children’s laughter ; then 
shortly fall into a revery of my own, 
looking hack to the day when these 
kind people brought me, a mere fledge- 
63 


ling, to this happy home, gave me this 
fine cage, and attended to all my small 
canary wants so tenderly that I grew to 
be quite a beautiful bird. Pardon the 
thought, but what must one infer when 
he is constantly addressed as, “ Lovely 
birdie,” “ Pretty Peetie,” or, “ O, you 
beauty ! ” I never quite liked that 
name “ Peetie,” but a bird would be 
most ungrateful who could ruffle his 
plumage over the mere matter of a 
name, after all their kindness ; and 
so you may call me Peetie. 

The swing sways no longer ; and 
with a good night, “tweet, tweet!” I 
tuck my yellow head snugly under my 
wing. 


Song Second 

I should many times be lonely were 
it not for the little golden-haired Mary 
who plays so often in the room with 
me. I love to watch her in her play, 
dressing and redressing her dolls, frol- 
icking with her pet cat, or, better still, 
dressing up the great tabby for a baby. 
’Tis a funn}^ sight. One can see little 
to fear in the cat, he looks so meek, 
wrapped in his shawl, with his ears 
tied back in a bonnet, and lying so 
quietly as she rocks or dresses him. 
Indeed, I can scarcely recognize in him 

65 



the sly Thomas who so often feasts his 
eyes on me in a way which makes me 
sadly fearful that his stomach also hun- 
gers for canary. 

I sat a long time this morning look- 
ing out of the window. It looked bit- 
ter cold outside. One could tell by the 
way the ice-covered branches of the rose 
tree crackled and struck its countless 
frozen fingers against the window pane. 
There were patches of frozen snow to be 
seen, and a strong wind blew hither and 
thither the few remaining dry leaves 
of autumn. One lone sparrow fluttered 
by, then darted away into the depths of 
the evergreens. How the cold out there 
must strike through to a fellow’s very 
pinfeathers. In sympathy I shook my 
own plumage, and gladly turned my 
attention from the gloomy outside to the 
66 


brightness within. Little Mary was 
spreading a shawl over a chair, and tell- 
ing her dolls that she was going to play 
the piano. 

She sang sweetly, and I am sure 
when her small hands moved over her 
imaginary keyboard, one could almost 
hear the music. At any rate, there was 
rhythm in her movements. 

Whether it was the harmony of her 
music, or of the fair picture she made, 
tossing her curls from side to side, I 
know not, but my bird heart was stirred 
with the love of her, so that I, too, sang, 
— sang a song to her loveliness. Did 
she understand ? She seemed to, for 
she stopped, and smiling at me with 
her sweet, brown eyes, listened. 


67 


Song Third 

My canary patience Has been sorely 
tried to-day. It being very stormy out- 
side, the children Have played all day 
in the room with me, and, let me add, 
have made it equally stormy inside. 

I love to watch the children when they 
play happily together, but to see them 
mischievous is a sight I cannot endure 
calmly. 

It is strange how entirely alone they 
seem to feel with only a bird in the 
room with them. Do they know, I 
wonder, that even a bird can see and 
68 


criticise their rudeness ? Several times 
I tried to quiet the discord, but to sing 
sweetly when shut in with a nine-year- 
old schoolboy, bent on tormenting his 
sisters, is a task quite beyond me. 

Little Mary, too, has had a sorry 
time of it, as Master Nathan is espe- 
cially fond of teasing her. He pinches 
her cheeks, pulls her curls, and many 
times to-day has called her favorite 
doll, Rosabella, “ old Betsy Jane, ” 
which nearly breaks the child’s heart. 
Once he tied a string about the neck of 
the lovely waxen creature, and suspend- 
ing her from the curtain pole, declared 
he was hanging Guiteau in effigy, until 
I thought poor Mary would cry her 
sweet eyes out. 

Finally, piling the chairs high on 
the dining table, he seated his plump 
69 


5 


self on top of them, and proclaiming 
himself “the king of the Cannibal 
Isles,” threatened to pounce upon Ro- 
sabella, with all her china sisters, and 
eat them every one. This resulted in 
quite a panic, and I was wondering for 
the eleventh time why no one came to 
quiet them, when the housemaid rushed 
in, her index finger still marking her 
place in a most interesting-looking 
novel, and took the little girls away to 
be dressed, after telling Nathan to be 
quiet, for his mother would soon re- 
turn from the missionary meeting. 

Having no one to tease, he was quiet 
for a time, and being naturally an or- 
derly boy, busied himself by putting 
the chairs back in their proper places ; 
while I sat nipping at my new cuttle 
bone, thankful that playtime was over. 

70 


But just as I was preparing to sing 
my song of thanks, his bright, mis- 
chievous eyes rested on me, and I saw 
that I was to be his next victim. He 
has a habit which I very much dislike, 
of poking his fingers at me through the 
wires of my cage. I have always felt 
it an indignity, and to-day he looked so 
provoking when he did it, that my very 
feathers stood on end, and clapping my 
wings with indignation, I darted at the 
intruding finger, and nipped it most 
savagely. Indeed, I fought until I was 
faint, but he only laughed, called me 
his “ little prize fighter,” and said I 
looked like a “ young eagle.” 

Later, I overheard the lad tell his 
father that he had had a pleasant time 
to-day. Surely there are things which 
pass my understanding. 

7i 



Song Fourth 


“ The lark is so brimful of gladness and love, 
The green fields below him, the blue sky 
above, 

That he sings, and he sings, and forever 
sings he, 

‘ I love m3' love, and my love loves me.’ ” 

— S. T. Coleridge. 

Last night I dreamed. I can fancy 
your look of surprise ; for few, I fear, 


72 



give us credit of thinking even in our 
waking hours. Yet, when last night I 
had tucked my weary head under my 
wing and was lost in slumber, I know 
I dreamed, and dreaming, saw again 
my gay friend, the robin, who through 
the long summer lived in his nest un- 
der the eaves, just above my window. 
Again I heard him, outside the open 
window, singing, and calling to me 
from the rose tree. As I listened to his 
sweet, varied notes, full of the gush of 
early spring, the caroling of other birds, 
mingled with the sweet scent of violets, 
seemed to be wafted in to me, and I 
stood enchanted. Small wonder that, 
waking from that dream of summer 
birds and blossoms, to be greeted by 
the bright sun peeping over the house- 
tops, I was happy; and being happy, 
73 


sang a morning song of thanks to the 
Maker of all that is good and beautiful. 

It was the prelude to a long, happy 
day. Early after breakfast they sent 
Thomas into exile, and placing my bath 
saucer on the floor, allowed me to bathe 
to my heart’s content. Oh! the de- 
light of ducking and dipping, of shak- 
ing the diamond drops from the wings, 
and then dipping in again ; and after- 
ward, to fly about the room at will, 
perching upon a picture frame to shake 
and dry one’s feathers; then flitting 
about from chair to table, and from 
table back to chair again, and finally 
to light upon the top of the tallest piece 
of furniture, and sing a song to free- 
dom. 

My cage door is often left open in 
this way, that I may fly in and out at 
74 


pleasure. To-day, when the family 
were at dinner, it was still open, and 
being in a sociable mood, I flew down 
among them. Stopping but a moment 
to taste a few crumbs from the bread 
plate, I flew from one friendly shoulder 
to another. Finally, prompted by a 
most happy thought, I alighted on the 
top of little Mary’s head, and nestling 
there in her sunny curls, found my 
crowning delight. A smile of amuse- 
ment went round, which for the mo- 
ment confused me, so that from sheer 
embarrassment, I pecked a yellow feather 
from my coat, and let it flutter down 
upon the table. Little Mary repeated 
“ pretty Peetie ” over and over again, 
and held her head so quietly that I was 
soon reassured. Feeling that I had 
pleased her, so filled my small heart 
75 


with delight that it could not hold all 
its gladness. Still nestling among the 
bright curls, I tuned my wee lyre, and 
sang to her my love song, full and 
liquid and sweet. 

Human bliss is ever fleeting. The 
small head moved, and I again hopped 
to the table, soon to be carried back to 
my cage on the mother’s finger. 



76 


Finale 


The long-looked-for day, Christmas 
day, is come at last. With what inter- 
est have I watched from my cage the 
preparations for this day. At every 
mysterious rustling of paper, how I 
have looked and listened, and very like 
little Hiawatha : — 

Learned of every one his secrets, 

Learned what each for each had purchased. 
Where they bought them, 

Where they hid them. 

Heard them tell the little children 
Why the reindeer runs so swiftly, 

How old Santa comes at Christmas. 

77 


In fact, I realize that at this season 
a little bird has one advantage the chil- 
dren have not. But, bless their hearts, 
what would Christmas be without them ? 
You should have seen them last night 
hanging up their stockings. How their 
bright eyes shone with eager interest 
as each was firmly pinned to the man- 
tel ; and how ready they were to be led 
up to bed, that St. Nicholas might come 
the quicker. 

When, after much fruitless effort, 
each pair of wakeful eyes was closed in 
slumber, and all throughout the house 
was quiet, in came Santa with all his 
assistants, completely loaded down with 
packages ; but oh ! so quietly, making 
no noise at all, save for the rustling of 
paper and the soft whispering. 

Yes, surely it was Santa ! one would 
73 


know him by his gray beard and merry 
eyes. What matter, if he did not wear 
his red coat trimmed in ermine ? The 
children were doubtless dreaming of 
that, and it were a sin to tell them he 
forgot to wear it. 

It was so late when he came that it 
had taken a great deal of flapping of 
the wings to keep myself awake until 
his arrival ; so much, in fact, that I 
would not advise any little child ever 
to attempt it. 

As it was, I became so sleepy that I 
could not have told for the life of me 
what went into those stockings, and 
long before the lights were out I gladly 
tucked my tired head under my wing, 
and was lost in slumber. 

My rest was destined to be again 
broken. I was awakened suddenly by 
79 


a noise in the room near me. Trem- 
bling so that I nearly fell from my perch, 
I peered into the darkness, trying to 
discover the cause of it. I could see 
nothing, however, and was beginning 
to still my beating heart, when stealthy 
steps came creeping toward me. My 
one thought being of robbers, I think I 
should have fainted had I not at that 
moment heard the voice of the father 
calling Nathan back to bed again. 

Thus reassured, I once more fell 
asleep, to be awakened at the earliest 
break of day by the pattering of small 
bare feet upon the stair, followed by 
excited whisperings in the room, with 
occasional squeals of delight, as each 
little stocking was emptied of its treas- 
ures. Unless appearances were very 
deceiving, I think Santa had left just 
what each had been wishing. 

80 


During the forenoon there was much 
coming and going, and showing of gifts, 
so that the merry confusion lasted until 
dinner time. 

Nor was I forgotten, for after the 
first excitement was over, the children, 
wishing me a “ Merry Christmas,” 
pinned sprigs of holly to the curtain 
near me; and little Mary, placing a 
fresh, crisp lettuce leaf in the wires of 
jny cage, declared it a naughty shame 
that Peetie had no stocking to hang up. 
But to me Santa’s whole pack cannot 
compare with that single leaf from her 
dainty hand. 

I twittered, sang, and did my best to 
make her understand. 

For two days the snow has steadily 
descended, spreading over the earth a 
soft carpet of feathery whiteness, and 
trimming in ermine all the trees and 
81 


bushes. The storm has now ceased, 
and from all directions one can hear the 
merry sleigh bells ringing, with chil- 
dren’s glad voices hurrahing for the 
beautiful snow and for Christmas. 

As I look out upon the glistening 
scene, little brown birds flutter down 
outside my window, and one by one 
warble a matin song from the bare 
boughs of the rose tree, soft and sweet 
and low, as if meant alone for the ear 
of their Maker. Then, as I turn my 
head to one side, listening, they join 
in one glad chorus of chirpings, notes 
of most wonderful sweetness. Surely 
’tis the Christmas carol they are sing- 
ing. 

My small heart beats with gladness, 
and a song of joy swells in my throat, 
as I, too, catch up the glad refrain, and 
82 


with them sing, “ Glory to God in the 
highest, and on earth peace, good will to 
men.” 



83 



By One of Peetie' s Admirers 


Years have passed since Peetie poured 
forth his sweet, melodious songs from 
his cage by the window; but our hearts 
still feel the charm of his memory in a 
way difficult to analyze. Looking back 
through the mist of those years, we 
still see our beautiful yellow songster, 
and hear his divine utterances ; for while 
the songs which appealed to the ear of 
sense are gone, his songs in memory 
live on forever. 


Still, no more genuine grief, we think, 
ever rent the hearts of mourners than 
on the day when Nathan and his little 
sisters with tender hands laid all that 
remained to them of Peetie in the min- 
iature casket of walnut, which Nathan 
had made with ready hands, but with 
great tears standing in his boy eyes. 

Indeed, it was an odd but very tear- 
ful little procession which wended its 
way across the lawn, and amid sobs and 
tears sang their parting song over the 
tiny grave beneath the lilacs. 

Small, sad hearts, be still! ’ Tis 
only the little yellow shadow you have 
laid there. Peetie is not dead. He has 
but broken his captivity, and flitted 
away into the eternal freedom of the 
great Unknown. 


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Cat Tales 




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“ Ding dong bell, pussy’s in the well. 

Who put her in ? — Little Johnny Green. 

Who got her out ? — Great Tom Stout. 

What a naughty boy was that 

Thus to drown poor pussy cat.” 

This is a familiar ditty, but let me 
tell you of the little maiden who on 
this particular morning was singing it. 

Full of her innocent mirth, she 
dances over the kitchen floor, setting 
89 


her song to the tune of the teakettle, 
and bringing in the orchestral parts 
with her small fist on the side of her 
dish pan. Ever sweet and merry, with 
laughing brown eyes and yellow ring- 
lets, one might aptly describe her in 
the words of Byron : — 

“ A lovely being, scarcely formed or molded, 
A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded. ’ ’ 

I am sure the huge black cat, view- 
ing the gay vaudeville from the win- 
dow seat, agrees with me. 

With the hanging of the bright dish 
pan, the duties of the small lady, whom 
we will call Roxana, are ended, and, as 
usual, a lively play spell follows. 

While the frolic of maid and cat goes 
on, let me tell you of this beautiful 
90 


N 


domestic animal that I have already 
introduced to you. 

We consider him a very valuable cat. 
He has seven toes, and is of a size 
quite unusual. Every hair in his 
glossy, silken coat is black, while his 
eyes gleam like topaz. 

When he first came to us, I suppose 
from good reasons of his own he with- 
held his former name, and we have al- 
ways called him “ Bobby,” after Rox- 
ana’s brother, whose name is Robert, 
and who taught the cat most of the 
clever tricks he knows. 

Tales of trick dogs are common, but 
I think I have never known of a cat 
that could perform so many feats suc- 
cessfully, or that in his daily doings 
showed so much wisdom. 

He can play at “ dead dog ” equal to 
91 


any Fido, or leap over a stick like a 
very lively one ; while in the art of 
hand-shaking he is quite a master, be- 
ing able to hold his paw at just the 
right angle, and with quite as much 
dignity as our late President; more- 
over, I sometimes think, with the same 
latent feeling of weariness. 

Our cat is quite aristocratic in all his 
doings. I have never known him to 
mew at the door in order to gain ad- 
mittance, at least not since he discov- 
ered that our doorbell was of the sort 
he could manipulate. Of course this 
is all quite proper and most wise ; still 
when pussy takes it into his head to 
keep late hours, and the household is 
aroused at midnight by his loud ring- 
ing, we naturally think him rather too 
sagacious ; especially did I think so on 
92 


that first night when, not dreaming it 
was our cat, I arose and donned most 
of my clothing before admitting his 
royal highness. 

One night a particularly funny in- 
cident occurred. It was in the wee 
small hours that I was awakened by the 
clicking of the old-fashioned latch at 
the side door ; and immediately fearing 
that robbers were about to break in and 
steal, I gave my husband a prodigious 
nudge in the ribs, begging him to get 
up at once and do what he could to dis- 
perse them. After listening but a sec- 
ond, he also came to my conclusion, 
and being a man of undaunted courage, 
decided to teach the scamps a lesson. 
Having no weapons, this must be done 
empty-handed ; and so, creeping softly 
out of bed, he glided on tiptoe across 
93 


the floor until the door was reached, and 
feeling about in the darkness, he laid 
hold of its handle. In all that dark 
night not a sound was to be heard but the 
regular click, click of the latch, made by 
the ruffian outside, and within, his own 
breathing. Barely an instant he paused, 
then quickly sliding back the lock, 
threw the door wide open, and sprang 
upon — not the rascal he had ex- 
pected to grapple with, there alone in 
his night clothes, but just the raw edge 
of a northeasterly, and our Bobby. Re- 
turning home at an unusually late hour, 
he was trying, after the approved style 
of some other gallants I have heard of, 
to admit himself quietly. And cling- 
ing there to the door handle, tapping 
the latch in hopes of springing it, he 
was no doubt astonished when the door 


opened, and he was thrown violently 
across the room into the farthest cor- 
ner. Still perchance not more amazed 
was he than was my good husband, as 
he rebolted the door, and returned to 
his slumbers. 

Shortly after this, I chanced to learn 
from the stable boy the cause of these 
late hours of Bobby’s. Upon going 
to the stable one morning to bid good- 
by to our bay Billy, which we were 
about to trade for a white horse, I found 
Bobby had preceded me, and, purring 
most demurely, was walking forward 
and back on the edge of the manger, 
rubbing his velvety sides against the 
face of the horse, which, to my sur- 
prise, returned rather than resented 
his caresses, gently passing his nose 
over the cat in quite an affectionate 
95 


manner. The friendship, indeed, seemed 
to be as mutual as it was strange, for 
even when Bobby sprang upon the back 
of the horse, and capered about in regu- 
lar circus-like fashion, he stood perfectly 
quiet, showing no displeasure. 

I think the intimacy must have been 
of long standing, for the stable boy de- 
clared that “ that ’ere cat an’ hoss wuz 
as thick as hasty puddin’,” and that 
many a night he had left them there 
together ; but as he seldom found the 
cat there in the morning, I draw the 
conclusion that Bobby, being a decid- 
edly domestic animal, would, in the 
midnight watches, begin to long for his 
cushion by the fireside. 

With the coming of the white pony, 
Bobby discovered that there was a limit 
to his privileges. Leaping with most 
96 


disastrous suddenness to the back of the 
new horse, he was quite as suddenly, 
and in a manner far from courteous, 
thrown off. The frightened horse, 
trembling in every limb, proceeded to 
climb as nearly as possible into her 
manger, while our chagrined Bobby 
made a bee line for the house, carrying 
with him not only a sadly rumpled coat, 
but the memory of a recent suggestion. 

Bobby must have felt that his cup of 
injuries was indeed full, for he reached 
the kitchen only to be shoved out again 
on the clumsy foot of our new cook. 
This may seem to some but a trivial 
matter, and to be sure the cook did not 
harm the cat physically. But, pray, 
what is mere physical pain to the sting 
of insult heaped upon insult? 

Truly, actions speak louder than 
97 


words, and I am sure you would have 
thought so could you have seen the look 
of injured dignity with which this mag- 
nanimous animal turned away from 
that cook, — a look that spoke plainly 
his pity for her ignorant rudeness. 
With his every hair distended from 
sheer contempt of the insult, he 
quickly, silently made his way to the 
front door, and rang for admittance. 
In a very short time, however, he had 
forgotten his troubles, or at least had 
found a soothing remedy for his late 
annoyance as he lay curled up in Rox- 
ana’s lap, with her soft hand, stroking 
him gently. 

This merry little girl, with all her 
love of fun and frolic, is always gentle 
and kind to her furry playfellows, and 
receives in turn the sure reward for 


98 


kindness shown to animals. Even in 
their wildest frolics Bobby never forgets 
to keep the pins in his seven great toes 
closely covered with velvet. 

Although naturally brave, our puss is 
a very poor fighter, his prudence usually 
outweighing his courage. One day, as a 
neighbor’s dog was tormenting a kitten 
in the dooryard, our gallant Bobby dis- 
covered them, and in a moment of brav- 
ery proceeded to correct the discourtesy. 
Although the dog was a huge fellow, 
Bobby leaped to his back, and cuffed 
him right soundly ; but when the dog 
shook himself free, and with an ugly 
growl seemed to mean business, Bobby 
was up a tree in a twinkling, evidently 
believing in the old saying : — 

‘ ‘ He who fights and runs away 
May live to fight another day.” 

99 

L.ofC. 


The result, however, in this case 
proved quite satisfactory, as the dog, 
realizing that he was fully conquered 
by the cat’s strategy, left at once for 
parts unknown, evidently forgetting 
the kitten, which went on its way re- 
joicing. 

This interesting cat of ours is also 
a great lover of music, and will sit 
quietly as long as any one will sing to 
him ; still, like a true follower of the 
famous Paderewski, he coniines his 
performance entirely to the piano, never 
having been known to join the row of 
plebeians who caterwaul on the back 
fence at midnight in ruthless imitation 
of grand opera. Neither does he execute 
after the style of ordinary cats, which 
you may have seen treading up and 
down on the keyboard ; but sits upon 

IOO 


the stool like a veritable professor, and 
taps away at the ivory first with one fore- 
paw, then the other, lifting his velvety 
paws in quite the approved manner, 
then bringing them down with precision, 
nodding his head the while in time to 
the tapping. 

O cat most beauteous ! you do indeed 
express much of wisdom and intelligence. 
And why not ? Is it not love, that love 
which is born of a kindly feeling toward 
every living thing, and the recognizing 
of the good in everything, that makes 
us all happy, makes the eyes to shine, 
the face to grow beautiful, and brings 
out the best there is in us ? May it not 
then be the love and kindly attention 
given our Bobby which make him so 
strangely wise and beautiful ? 

Then tell me, you who are grown wise 


7 


IOI 


in theories, why will mankind withhold 
love, the giving of which does not im- 
poverish ? 

The .twilight deepens ; and, my revery 
ended, I draw the thick curtains over 
the windows, where — - 

‘ ‘All the panes are hung with frost — 
Wild wizard- work of silver lace.” 

Within, the fire blazes brightly in the 
grate, shedding its warm rays out over 
the hearth-rug, where rests, after a little 
half-hour play, our superb Bobby and 
my little maiden, the black of his furry 
coat veiled in the gold of her sunny 
tresses. 

A lovely picture, full of the harmony 
of contented innocence, and speaking of 
the magic of love and of happy sur- 
roundings. 


102 




The Miller’s Horse 


“ An honest tale speeds best, being plainly 
told. — Shakespeare. 



I 


On a great old farm, far out in the 
country, where in summer time yel- 
low cowslips grow in dewy meadows, I 
was born, a horse. Only a horse, yet 
by nature proud ; so that in referring 
to my birth, I would gladly speak of 
noble lineage, and of gold medals won 
by high-born ancestors ; but being also 
naturally truthful, I must be content 
with stating that my knowledge of my 
family tree dates back no farther than 
to my parents, who spent the most of 
their days upon the farm where I was 
born. 


107 


Of my father I know little, as we 
were never pastured together, but I have 
heard him spoken of as noble-blooded, 
and he was, as I remember him, very 
fine looking. 

It was my mother, however, that I 
considered the most beautiful. Her 
dark chestnut coat was soft and silky, 
the only spot of white upon her being 
a star just beneath her forelock, and 
her tail was wavy and abundant, while 
from her handsomely arched neck 
flowed the finest mane I have ever 
seen. 

Her pace was swift and light, and no 
coach horse in the land, I am sure, could 
hold its head more grandly ; so that on 
the road she was greatly admired, and I 
always felt very proud when I overheard 
people remark that I would grow to be 
108 


like her. Although a high-spirited 
horse, she was also gentle, having, 
notwithstanding her rural surround- 
ings, very polished horse manners. 

She taught me, while I was yet a 
young colt, never to bite or kick; that 
even in play, gentleness was always 
commendable. 

The greater part of my first three 
summers was spent with my mother, 
grazing in a wide pasture, and wading 
in the clear, gurgling waters of the 
brook which ran through one end of it ; 
or in galloping about the field if other 
colts of my age chanced to be pastured 
with us. 

The men on the farm being usually 
busy in the fields, I was often cared for 
by the ladies, who named me “ Maggie,” 
and made a special pet of me. So you 
109 


will see in my first home I was very 
happy. Even when breaking me to 
the harness, my master, being a wise 
horseman, was gentle and kind with 
me, making quite easy what would oth- 
erwise have proved most tiresome, and I 
am sure I shall always be grateful to 
him for his kindness. 

On very warm days I would lie 
down in the cool, nodding grasses, be- 
neath the great oak tree which stretched 
its wide-spreading branches over one 
corner of my pasture, and amid the 
fragrance of blooming clover, dream 
of my future. 

My mother had told me there would 
doubtless come a day when I would 
be sold, and gave me much good ad- 
vice as to what I should do, and how I 
should act, when I was finally taken 
away from her. 


no 


Sometimes as we grazed by the Hedge- 
row, fine carriages would pass on the 
road leading to the city, some seven 
miles distant. One day I remember as 
we stood there watching an especially 
stylish turn-out, my mother remarked 
that she had always hoped that I would 
be sold as a carriage horse. I, too, felt 
it would be a very fine thing. So, on 
those summer days, when I lay in 
the shade, dreaming, I always fancied 
myself clad in a silver-mounted har- 
ness, prancing along before an aristo- 
cratic carriage, and some fine lady, with 
her coachman in livery, riding behind 
me. 

In youthful dreams, what glittering 
bubbles we may swell, but how easily 
stern reality bursts them. 


1 1 1 


II 

In the spring when I was four 
years old, I had grown, as had often 
been predicted, to look very like my 
handsome mother, — the same chestnut 
coat, with the white star on my fore- 
head, and the same wavy tail and 
mane. Indeed, we were so much alike 
that during the winter our master had 
many times driven us in double har- 
ness together. Our paces, too, being 
much the same, we made a fine team, 
and I was always proud and happy 
when speeding along the smooth coun- 


1 1 2 


try road with. her. Then, being with 
my mother often gave me courage at 
times when I would otherwise have 
been frightened at what was strange 
to me. A word from my master, too, 
would often reassure me. 

Still I think I shall never forget the 
first train of cars that I ever saw. On 
that day I had been harnessed alone 
to the sulky, and driven by my master 
into the town, some six miles distant. 
My mother had told me of the cars, but 
I had never seen them. It was for this 
purpose, I have since thought, that 
my master took me that day with him. 

I had enjoyed the run into the town 
very much, but the six miles of lively 
travel had taken some of the playful- 
ness out of me, so that when my mas- 
ter drove me up alongside of a small 
113 


building, and stopped where we would 
be out of the wind, I was glad to rest. 

My master said, “ Now, Maggie, 
stand still, and rest a bit. We are 
going to see something new to-day.” 
Unfortunately, I did not rightly under- 
stand him, but stood looking about me 
at the people going to and from the 
station, and trying to discover what 
there was new to look at, aside from 
a few strange faces. 

Suddenly I heard a great puffing and 
roaring. Turning a little to my right, 
I saw a frightful, snorting object, with 
fiery breath, come shrieking down 
upon us. When within a short dis- 
tance it stopped with its one big eye 
full upon me, in a manner which fairly 
took my breath away. I grew weak at 
the knees, and my very heart stood 


still from fear and amazement. I think, 
however, that I must have been in- 
clined to run, as my master kept say- 
ing over and over to me, “ Whoa, Mag- 
gie ! Be still, lady, there’s nothing to 
hurt you.” And I obeyed his voice as 
I had been taught to do. But standing 
there facing that terrible creature, my 
legs grew so weak that I doubt if, at 
that moment, I could have traveled, had 
he wished it. In fact, all that day I 
felt as trembly as the old horse that 
often came to my master’s farm, hitched 
to the rag-peddler’s cart. 

Indeed, I was so greatly excited that 
for the life of me I could not have told 
just what I did when I saw that loco- 
motive. But later in the day, when my 
master was shaking up my straw bed, I 
overheard him telling the hired man 
IX 5 


that I had “faced the music like a 
good one, but had done a pretty bit of 
dancing,” and that I had “ puffed and 
snorted near to beat the engine.” 

As time went on, I, of course, learned 
that when one keeps out of the way of 
the cars, they will never harm him ; but 
from that day to this I have never been 
able to face an engine calmly, and I am 
sure my master made a great mistake 
in driving me for the first time so close 
to one. 

As I was now four years old, I began 
to feel quite grown up. This at times 
made me feel very important, still I 
cannot say that I always enjoyed being 
treated as a full-grown horse. It is all 
very fine to stand in a stable to be 
brushed and curried, to eat a good mash 
or nibble the fragrant hay ; but when 
116 


one has to stand day and night tied to a 
manger with only an occasional run on 
the road for exercise, it becomes very 
tiresome, especially to one of my high 
spirits and strong constitution. 

Small wonder, then, that, having been 
accustomed to prance and gallop about 
the pasture as I liked, I sometimes, 
when put into harness, felt inclined to 
leap the fences rather than step along 
sedately as I had been taught to do. 

But when I complained to my mother 
that I now never had my own way, yet 
was always expected to do the will of 
our master, she gently chided me, say- 
ing we had a good master and a good 
home, and that I must not forget that I 
was a horse, and my fate but the com- 
mon fate of all horses. 

117 


8 


Ill 

One bright morning about this time, 
my mother was harnessed to a light 
wagon, and driven by our master to the 
mill with some bags of wheat he wished 
to have ground and made into flour. 
Upon her return, I saw that she looked 
troubled, but as she said nothing, I soon 
forgot it in listening to the experiences 
of a young horse that had that day been 
brought from town and put into the 
stall next to me. As she was shortly 
after taken into the fields, I did not see 
her again until evening. 

1 18 


My mother’s stall was next to mine, 
so that we could easily visit together. 

That night when we had finished our 
supper of oats, I learned what had dis- 
turbed her. She began by saying that 
in case I was never sold as a carriage 
horse, I must not be disappointed, for it 
mattered little how well-born a horse 
might be, he could never tell into what 
sort of place he would be sold. It was 
unwise to cherish hopes and ambitions 
which might end in disappointment, 
and that a horse must needs be thank- 
ful if he gets kind care and plenty to 
eat, whether it be from the hands of 
a poor man or a rich one. 

I listened in silence, wondering what 
had led her to speak in this manner. 
Seeing my look of surprise, she contin- 
ued, saying that at the mill that day 


she had heard the miller talking with 
our master of buying me for his delivery 
horse. 

After that for a time she, too, was 
silent, but finally, reaching her shapely 
head over into my stall, she kissed me 
on the forehead, and told me that the 
thought of parting with one of her colts 
had never before so grieved her. Then 
leaning her head down against her man- 
ger, she was again silent, and I knew 
that she was weeping. I, too, felt it a 
bitter shame that I must so soon be 
taken away from my good mother, for 



120 


no one can ever know just how dearly 
she and I loved each other. Knowing 
not what I could say to comfort her, I 
mutely leaned my face over against her 
neck, and gave my sympathy in silence. 

Early on the following day I was 
put into harness with my mother. Al- 
though nothing was said, we well knew 
that I was going to the mill for inspec- 
tion. 

It was a fine spring day, the air fresh 
and fragrant, and one cannot be low- 
spirited on a day like that; so, as 
we trotted briskly along, my mother 
became quite cheerful, saying she had 
always liked the looks of the miller’s 
face, and that at the mill I would doubt- 
less get plenty of good grain to eat, and 
she hoped that I would always try to do 
my best, whatever was required of me. 


121 


I told her that I would try at all 
times to do as she had taught me. At 
the same time I resolved, in my mind, 
that if holding my head high could 
prevent the miller from buying me, it 
should do so. Accordingly, when we 
came to the mill, I was holding my head 
as coltishly as possible, and had broken 
quite into a gallop, so that my mother 
tried in vain to keep step with me, and 
our master had some difficulty in stop- 
ping us. When we finally drew up be- 
fore the wide-open doors, there was such 
a genial look about the great old four- 
story building that my heart at once 
quite opened toward it, and when the 
miller came, his eyes looking out at me 
from beneath his mealy hat had such a 
true, benignant expression that I felt he 
was a man to be trusted. From that 


122 


moment all my late resolves and ambi- 
tions were abandoned. 

I can remember little of what the 
miller said that day to my master, but 
his voice, so steady and kind and 
quiet, I have never forgotten. 

As we stood there, another man in 
mealy clothes came out of the mill, and 
joined in the conversation with much 
interest. I afterward learned that he 
was the miller’s partner in business. 
He also was a kind-looking man, and 
seemed fond of horses ; so that I began 
to feel that being a miller’s horse 
might be much pleasanter than I had 
fancied it. 

When the miller stepped into the 
wagon to try his hand at driving me, 
I did my best to please him, and 
really felt disappointed when they did 
123 


not decide that day to take me, and I 
was driven back to the farm again ; for 
with the fickleness of youth, I was now 
hoping the miller would buy me. 



124 


IV 

It is strange how distinctly some 
days stand out in the memory, while 
others of equal importance are for- 
gotten. The following Friday I have 
always clearly remembered, from early 
morning when I looked out from 
my stable window, and watched the 
thin lines of blue smoke curl slowly up 
from the farmhouse chimney, until the 
evening when I lay in my new stable 
underneath the mill, listening to the 
sounds of nightfall, — the soft rustling 
of leaves, the startled cry of a bird in 


125 


the distance, or the deep gurgling of 
the waters that emptied into the race. 
Not that I seemed at the time to be 
taking special notice of my surround- 
ings, but later the picture has distinctly 
come back to me. Even the trifles — 
the broken brim of the straw hat worn 
by my master, and the mournful creak- 
ing sound made by the old pump- 
handle as he drew that last pail of 
water for me — all come back so plainly. 
And, perhaps I imagined it, but his 
large, rough hand seemed that morning 
unusually gentle as he smoothed my 
glossy coat, and put me into my har- 
ness. Still I do not think I realized 
that when he led me out from the sta- 
ble that I would never again enter it. 
Although she said nothing, I think my 
mother felt it, for as we were driven 


126 


along the road together, she kept look- 
ing at me in a way quite unusual, and 
her eyes were full of sadness. 

When we came to the mill, a stout 
team of horses hitched to a rude wagon 
stood before the entrance, waiting to be 
laden with the bags of corn or meal, 
making it necessary for us to wait our 
turn in driving up. 

As we stood there, a sturdy, rosy- 
cheeked boy of ten came out of the mill 
and down the steps, leading by the hand 
a little girl in white apron and sunbon- 
net. They stopped but a moment, 
looking at us, and then trudged away 
toward the miller’s house, a few rods 
distant. 

It was a cozy country cottage, with 
green vines growing over the door- 
ways. Although when I last saw it, 
127 


there had been many changes for im 
provement, yet I now always think of 
it as when I first saw it on that one 
May morning. 

The baby girl has grown to woman- 
hood, but I still see her as she stood 
there that one moment, in her white 
pinafore, with her soft brown eyes peep- 
ing from beneath her little gingham 
snnbonnet. 

At last the miller came to us, and 
from the conversation which followed I 
learned that he was now my master. 
Accordingly, I was unharnessed, and 
another horse, which had been tied at 
the back of the wagon, was put into my 
place. A halter was then slipped over 
my head, and with barely time to glance 
at my mother, I was led away by the 
millers partner, down around the cor- 
128 


ner of the mill. But as I whinnied my 
last good-by to her, I could hear her 
neighing softly in reply to me. 

A sloping wagon path led around to 
the stable door at the back, passing 
down which a most picturesque sight 
was visible. I had been pleased with 
the front view, but the rear landscape, 
with its murmuring mill stream bor- 
dered by a deep wood, made one of 
those delightful retreats to which mem- 
ory clings in after days. 

As I was led into my new stable, 
many song birds from the depth of 
this wood seemed to be singing me 
welcome. 

From the stable window I could look 
out upon the tail-race, along the banks 
of which grew tall elms, their long, 
drooping branches reaching out from 
129 


either side and intermingling their del- 
icate leaves overhead in a natural arch 
above the shallow waters; or as I once 
heard the miller describe it, u with their 
branches touching at the top like grace- 
ful fingers, they seemed about to dance 
the stately minuet to the music of the 
gurgling waters.” 

My new stable was a clean, comfort- 
able-looking place, but as there were 
only three stalls in it, I knew at once 
that I was to have few companions, this 
for a time making me feel rather lonely. 
Then the hum of the machinery over- 
head and the constant splashing of the 
water so near — which later grew to 
be sweet music to my ears — at first 
seemed very strange to me, so that 
when at noon the miller and his part- 
ner came into the stable, I was very 
glad to see them. 

130 


They looked me well over, and 
appeared greatly pleased with their 
bargain, saying that although it had 
been a large price for them to pay, I 
was well worth the money. 

While thus talking, the miller’s part- 
ner, whom he called Bill, slowly stirred 
a fine bran mash, and gave it to me. 
Then they went out, my new master 
patting me gently on the nose as he 
left me. When they were gone, I ate 
my good dinner, and grew contented. 

The miller’s family consisted of his 
wife and three children, his partner, 
and a maiden sister of my new mis- 
tress, whom they called Aunt Mandy. 

During the afternoon they all came 
to the stable to see me, and nearly 
turned my head with compliments, even 
the maiden aunty calling me a beauty, 
but hoped to goodness I was gentle. 


Toward evening, the other two stalls 
remaining still unoccupied, I began to 
fear that I was to be left at night alone 
in the stable. This seemed to me a 
very gloomy prospect, and I felt greatly 
relieved when a pretty dappled cow was 
brought in and tied to one of the man- 
gers. To be sure, I should have pre- 
ferred a good horse as a companion, but 
Bossie was from the first very sociable, 
and I was glad to have some one to 
talk with. 

Friday is often called an unlucky 
day, but on that Friday night, as I 
stood knee-deep in my thick bed of 
Straw, I am sure I felt it to be for me 
a very lucky day indeed. 


132 


V 

Early the following day Bill put me 
into my new harness, and hitched me 
to a brand new wagon which, I heard 
them say, had been made especially 
for me. It was a fine, light delivery 
wagon, convertible into a two-seated 
vehicle, — not at all the carriage of my 
dreams, still I was very proud of it. 

Feeling grateful for all the kindness 
shown me, that morning I resolved al- 
ways to be gentle and steady. Accord- 
ingly I trotted up the wagon-path and 
around the corner of the mill very 
sedately, and all, I think, would have 
r 33 


9 


been well, but just as we stopped in 
front of tbe door, I heard a sudden 
loud rumbling noise as of a train of 
cars close upon us. It came, I after- 
ward learned, from starting up some 
part of the mill machinery, but at that 
moment, being filled with consterna- 
tion, away flew all my good resolutions, 
and I flew too! Down the sandy road 
and around the corner I went at a rate 
of speed no sane horse would ever at- 
tempt outside of a race-course. 

In the one fleeting glimpse of the 
house as I sped past it, I saw as in a 
dream Aunt Mandy standing in the 
doorway, her hands uplifted in horror, 
and then all objects became confused 
and indistinct in the madness of flight. 

When, however, the excitement was 
all over, and I was driven back to the 
i34 


mill again, I felt very much ashamed 
to have misbehaved so on the very first 
day. But on receiving only kind words 
and caresses, I was soon restored to my 
usual good spirits, and the remainder 
of the day passed very quietly, my 
work as a delivery horse proving quite 
easy with Bill for my driver. 

The next day being Sunday, I was 
harnessed up to carry the family into 
town to attend church services. The 
miller smoothed my glossy coat, and 
patted me kindly as he put me into 
my harness, and I again resolved to be 
good and steady. 

As I was driven up to the gate where 
the family stood waiting, I am sure if 
I had not been a very well-bred horse 
indeed, I shoujd have laughed as Aunt 
Mandy with her alpaca skirt lifted so 
i35 


that not only her cloth gaiters but her 
white stockings were also visible, 
started off on foot, declaring that she 
would “ never risk her neck riding 
after that skittish animal.” 

Notwithstanding Aunt Mandy’s pre- 
dictions, that ride was not in the least 
exhilarating, for feeling the responsi- 
bility of taking the family out for the 
first time, I tried by being very digni- 
fied to win the confidence of the good 
wife, on whose part it was easy to de- 
tect signs of nervousness whenever I 
arched my neck to get a clearer view of 
some object by the roadside. We even 
passed the bridge in safety, though 
with the usual amount of testing 
and the joyous bound off on to terra 
firma. I have always detested bridges, 
they seem so insecure. 

136 


I have no doubt but that coming into 
church late, after her long walk, Aunt 
Mandy was greatly relieved to find the 
rest of the family safe in their pew 
awaiting her. 

For weeks she continued walking 
wherever she went, but as time wore 
on, and she saw that no one who 
rode behind me came to harm, she 
finally ventured to climb to the edge 
of the buggy seat, and ride to church 
on Sunday. Although nothing serious 
ever happened, I knew full well that 
she was always uneasy, and shall never 
forget the last ride she took behind me. 

I had been the miller’s horse for 
about five years, when Aunt Mandy, 
who was then no longer a member of 
the family, visited them. Her visit 
being at an end, the miller’s son, Na- 
i37 


than, who was then fifteen years old, 
was to drive her to the station. Ac- 
cordingly her trunk was lifted to the 
back of the wagon, while with her eyes 
askance upon me, she climbed gingerly 
up to the seat beside him. 

A horse feels very quickly the 
thoughts and moods of those about 
him, and seeing plainly that she was 
nervous, I became nervous, too ; so that 
when, after going a short distance, a 
sudden gust of wind blew a stray pa- 
per across the road just before me, I 
was for the moment startled, and shy- 
ing a little to one side, looked about me ; 
but I was not greatly frightened, and 
could not understand the panic 1 
seemed to have created behind me. 

There was a brief tugging at the 
reins, and although I was again trot- 
138 


ting along as usual, Aunt Mandy’s 
quaking voice was calling “ Whoa ! 
whoa ! ” to me as she fairly tumbled 
over into the back of the wagon, and 
with her feet hanging out at the end, 
sat wringing her hands in distress at 
her fancied peril. 

But not hearing my young master’s 
voice I trotted on, little thinking that I 
was leaving him by the roadside behind 
me. This, however, as I soon discov- 
ered, was only too true. When I made 
that unfortunate spring, Aunt Mandy 
had frantically snatched the reins from 
his fingers, and in lurching against 
him, had completely pushed him out 
of the wagon, leaving him, breath- 
less, in a brush heap, and doubtless 
mentally swearing vengeance on his 
timid passenger. 


When he had sufficiently recovered 
his breath, he ran after us, and called 
to me, so that I stopped, and waited for 
him. 

We all finally reached the station in 
safety, where in silence the good lady 
was deposited with her baggage upon 
the platform. Then with a rather indif- 
ferent “ Good-by/’ Nathan jumped into 
the wagon, and left her ; but as we were 
turning around I heard her saying, 
“ That fractious animal will surely kill 
some of them yet with her antics.” 

It was plain to see that I had offended 
the lady, and I was sorry to have done 
so, but the coolness between the boy 
and his Aunty I could not understand 
until we had reached home, where, driv- 
ing up before the gate, Nathan told his 
experience to his mother. 

140 


VI 


It is a wise man who knows his 
horse as well as the horse knows his 
driver. 

We seem instinctively to know what 
sort of man is guiding us, and whether 
or not he is to be trusted. Often when 
a horse seems timid, it is but from his 
lack of confidence in his driver. 

From the first I felt I could trust 
the miller, and each day grew more 
fond of him. How many a time has 
this reliance in my master strengthened 
me to face uncertainties. 

141 


One morning, I remember, when I 
had lived but a short time with the 
miller, he had occasion to drive over a 
marshy piece of land which was strange 
to me. The ground being wet and 
spongy, it was necessary to pass over on 
planks loosely thrown down for that 
purpose. This seemed to me a very 
dangerous place to travel, so much so 
that after taking a few steps out, I 
stopped short, hoping my master would 
feel it wise to turn about on to firm 
ground again. 

He only said quietly, “ Go on, Mag- 
gie, it’s all right,” and feeling confident 
that the miller would not drive me into 
danger, I went on, but trembling at 
every step as the planks beneath my 
feet sank into the mire, making me 
feel that I was going down, down, down, 
142 


to the very bottom of everything. Had 
not my master’s voice constantly reas- 
sured me, I fear my courage would have 
left me completely. As it was, I 
reached out with my forefeet, and felt 
every inch of the way before venturing 
upon it, barely creeping along until we 
reached the other side, and were on 
firm ground once more. 

When I related my experience that 
evening to Bossie in the stable, she did 
not seem to see much in my adventure 
to become excited over, saying that if, 
instead of our gentle master, I had had 
a great lazy boy to deal with, I would 
have some cause to complain. 

Chewing a few moments in silence, 
and seeming to find comfort in her med- 
itations, she added with evident satisfac- 
tion that she flattered herself she had 


M3 


that day taught him a lesson which he 
would doubtless remember. 

I urged her to tell me all about it. 

“ You know,” she began, “ that the 
miller’s son is sent each evening to 
bring me home from the pasture. Of 
late, seeming to consider me a beast of 
burden, he has pounced upon my back, 
and ridden me home at a gallop. 

“ At first I did not mind so much, 
although it always nearly takes my 
breath away, but of late I can see its 
effects upon me. To be sure, the boy 
is only ten years old, but he is alto- 
gether too heavy for a cow to carry, as 
I have heard our master tell him. You 
know a boy at his age is usually wiser 
than his father, and so he has continued 
to ride me. To-day when he climbed 
to my back, I felt the truth of the old 
144 


adage, ‘ If 3^011 wish a thing well done, 
you must do it yourself,’ and acted 
upon it. 

u Accordingly, before he was fairly 
up, I started off as fast as I could, 
giving now and then a sudden jump, 
fully intending to throw him. Let me 
tell you, it was not to be done so easily. 
I plunged, and galloped, and ran, but 
that undaunted youth still clung to 
me. I was beginning to think myself 
vanquished ; when near home, I espied 
the old wild crabapple tree with its low, 
drooping branches. It was my last 
resort, so plunging underneath the 
lowest bough, I triumphantly scraped 
him from my back, and on I came, 
leaving him behind me.” 

I was much surprised to hear that 
she had thrown our young master, and 
145 


told her so, but sbe only shook her 
pretty horned head defiantly, sa}fing a 
few scratches wouldn’t hurt him, and 
that she was right glad of the fright 
she had given the young rascal; then 
finished her supper in silence. 

I, too, remained silent, thinking it a 
trifling matter to cause her to misbe- 
have in such a manner, and went to 
sleep wondering why one’s own troubles 
always seem the greater. 

In later years I had occasion to 
remember Bossie’s indignation, and 
learned that it is only through like 
experience we can fully sympathize 
with the trials of others. 

“ Buffalo Bill ” with his wonderful 
show had gone, leaving many a lad in 
the town filled with a wild-west ambi- 
tion, and eager to be able to wield a 
lasso, and to ride bareback. 

146 


Accordingly, one warm day Nathan 
took me out upon the road for practice, 
riding furiously for more than an hour. 
He was a heavy lad, and galloped me 
about in true cow-boy fashion, until my 
breath fairly went out of me, and the 
heat made me faint and thirsty. 

He did not intend, I am sure, to be 
cruel, but boys are naturally thought- 
less, and do not seem to realize that a 
horse may become tired as well as they. 

Around and around we cantered until 
discovered by his father, who, looking 
very sad, took me back to the stable, 
and gave me a good rubbing down. 
Patting me gently as he went out, he 
said, “ We’ll see that this doesn’t hap- 
pen again, little lady.” 

I had never been used as a saddle 
horse, and for days after felt the effects 
of the boy’s frolic. 


47 


Although I did not throw him, I am 
sure I felt almost as great a desire to 
do so as Bossie. 





I Was Often Driven by the Miller’s Partner.” — Page 1^1 


VII 


I was often driven by the miller’s 
partner, who, though always kind and 
indulgent to me, was yet very unlike 
my master, being of a nervous temper- 
ament. 

When a horse sees that his driver is 
easily disturbed, he hardly knows what 
to depend upon. It happened one morn- 
ing as Bill was driving me into town, 
we both became greatly excited, so 
much so that had not my master been 
sitting behind, I fear a runaway would 
have resulted. As we passed over a 
io 151 


rough place in the road, I heard a crack- 
ling sound, and felt something give way 
behind me. Bill at once began a vio- 
lent tugging at the reins, which, to- 
gether with his loudly repeated “ Whoa ! 
whoa!” told me he was frightened. Not 
knowing what the trouble was, I, too, 
became alarmed. The whippletree had 
broken, so that by pulling on the reins 
he drew the wagon up against my hind 
legs, making me feel that it was going 
to run completely over me. I fear I 
should have disgraced myself by kick- 
ing loose from it had I not at that 
moment heard above the confusion my 
master’s voice quietly speaking to me, 
and felt his firm, gentle hand on my 
bridle. 

Now let me just mention another ex- 
perience which I had soon after. 

152 


Bill had taken the children for a 
day’s pleasure trip to a neighboring 
town. As we journeyed homeward, it 
became quite dark before we reached 
the crossroads. I was turning on to 
the road by which we had come in the 
morning, when to my surprise I was 
drawn in, a lively discussion ensuing 
between Bill and the children as to 
which turn was the right one. Despite 
all my remonstrances, the consultation 
resulted in my being finally turned 
about on to the wrong road. I knew 
my memory was good, and it was most 
humiliating that they would not heed 
my efforts to inform them. 

As we went along, the night grew 
darker, making it necessary to drive 
very slowly, so that it was late when 
Bill discovered he had taken the wrong 
i53 


IO i 


road, and we were compelled to retrace 
our steps, wearily, wearily, to the cor- 
ners again. 

A few weeks later, the miller moved 
his family into the village, where he 
had taken charge of another mill, and 
so when I had been his horse only about 
four years, I found myself in a new 
home, a small but comfortable bam. I 
liked it very much, for though not so 
picturesque, perhaps, it was in some 
respects pleasanter than my former one, 
having in connection with it a small, 
grassy pasture lot on the bank of a 
running stream. This was a great 
treat to me, for while I had often been 
tethered on some grassy place to graze, 
I had never since my coltish days been 
turned loose in a pasture. 

What a delight it was to be able to 
i54 


roll over in the soft, sweet grass, or 
gallop about as I liked ! How it rested 
me after a long morning of work! 
Troops of peaceful memories come back 
even now, as I think of that dear old 
playground, but, oh dear, with them 
crowds in also the remembrance of the 
time I was seized with a panic in that 
same pasture. 

Some weeks had glided happily along 
with little of interest, when one morn- 
ing I overheard my master saying to 
Bill that it would be better not to take 
me out on account of the circus. When 
they had left me, I stood for a long 
time looking over the fence, marveling 
much at his meaning. But finally I 
settled down to a day of enjoyment 
and rest in my pasture. 

Softly descending showers of the day 
i55 


previous had lent to it a new verdure. 
The sky above was blue and cloudless, 
the air fresh and sweet, while snatches 
of song came to me from the neighbor- 
ing woodland. So, grazing contentedly, 
I drank in the pure air and beauty 
about me. 

My content was short lived. In the 
distance I heard a heavy tramping 
sound, and scented an odor so peculiar 
that I sniffed the air in apprehension. 
An overwhelming fear of danger took 
possession of me, and I grew quite 
frigid as from around the comer of the 
mill stalked what seemed to me a large 
number of the ugliest, heaviest-footed 
monsters that my, eyes had ever rested 
upon. They were followed by tall, 
frightful-looking creatures having huge 
humps on their backs, and long necks, 
156 


stretching skyward. With ponderous 
tread they came on. A clammy sensa- 
tion crept over me, and a cold sweat 
started out from every pore in my 
body. I stood fairly rooted to the spot, 
my limbs, as if in shackles, refusing 
to move under me. 

But when, within a few yards of my 
pasture gate, the leader, uttering a 
husky, inarticulate sound, brandished 
his huge nose toward me, my fear 
changed to positive terror. Rearing 
madly, I dashed round and round, 
seeking escape, but blindly. There 
being no other exit, I finally leaped 
frantically through the waters of the 
mill stream to the steep bank on the 
opposite side. Coming, as it were, face 
to face with a board fence, I turned with 
flashing eyes and dilated nostrils, to 



i57 


confront the enemy, only to learn that 
I was not pursued. 

The blindness of my race passed, yet 
in spite of my efforts to calm myself, I 
was still in a great state of fear and 
trembling. From where I stood I could 
see the foe on the bank of the mill 
pond spouting the water into the air in 
a most heathenish fashion. 

There was but a short distance be- 
tween us, and although I held my head 
defiantly aloft, yet from my dry throat 
one loud, uncontrollable snort of fear fol- 
lowed another, escaping in quick suc- 
cession, not unlike the powerful “ Choo ! 
choo ! ” of a steam engine. Standing 
there, all reeking with sweat and drip- 
ping with water, it seemed to me ages 
before the last cumbersome stranger 
had plodded away behind the mill, and 
158 


was out of sight. Even then I did not 
feel sure that the danger was over, but 
stood trembling in every limb until Bill 
came, and slipping my halter over my 
head, led me back, and put me into my 
stable. 

I afterward learned that they were 
trained elephants and camels from the 
circus menagerie, led by their keepers 
to the pond for water, yet it was days 
before I recovered my usual spirits, 
and many a night I had disturbed 
dreams of an ugly-looking elephant, 
flourishing his great trunk toward me. 


i59 


VIII 

A few weeks after, late in the after- 
noon of a warm summer day, I was 
driven to a neighboring city, my master 
and mistress wishing to hear a lecture 
which was to be given there. 

It was a long drive, and ere we had 
reached the end of our journey the dew 
was fast falling, and the deep shadows 
of evening beginning to creep across 
the country roadway. 

When we came to the town, I was 
put into a nice stable, and given some 
very good oats and hay, so that the 
160 


time until our return did not seem long 
to me. It was, however, late. When 
we came out upon the road again, we 
saw that night had silently hut com- 
pletely spread her sable robe over all 
the countryside. Neither moon nor so 
much as one twinkling star remained 
to light us on our way. But I had 
traveled the road before, and so, with 
my master’s firm hand holding the 
reins, I trotted bravely along listening, 
now to the trees and bushes by the 
roadside rustling their thanks to the 
southern breezes’ promises of rain, now 
to the low voices of my master and 
mistress as they talked of their even- 
ing together. The sound of their 
familiar tones was a great comfort. 

As you know, the miller was a very 
cautious driver. So we were jogging 
161 


slowly along, when, through the still- 
ness of the night, there came to our 
ears the hurried clattering of hoofs be- 
hind us. 

The road at this point being narrow, 
it was most unwise to drive with such 
speed in the darkness. As I was reined 
in to one side of the roadway, my heart 
beat quickly within me. 

The speed of the approaching horses 
somewhat slackened, however, as they 
drew nearer, and I was beginning to 
hope they would pass by ns safely, 
when I was startled anew by a creak- 
ing of wheels and a great confusion be- 
hind me. A brief but breathless silence 
followed, filling me with consternation. 
Many a good horse, I am sure, would 
have been frightened into running. It 
was the momentary hush which most 


alarmed me, — the brief absence of the 
miller’s voice. My excited imagination 
wrought instantaneous pictures, — my 
master and mistress lying wounded in 
the darkness, demolished carriages, and 
scenes distressing beyond description. 
No tragedy, however, enters into this 
history of mine. True to my early 
training, I stood motionless, awaiting 
orders. It was barely a second, yet to 
me in my uncertainty it seemed an 
eternity, ere that voice, so low and yet 
so decided, came to me, saying, “ Stand 
still, Maggie, it’s all right, stand still.” 
Every leaf rustling in the darkness 
seemed to echo, “Stand still.” Some- 
thing within me had already given the 
same warning. I have always been 
thankful that I obeyed it. 

I despair of making yon realize the 
163 


intensity of the terror that rushed over 
me there in the darkness. Like a flash 
came the thought — a dash for liberty ; 
but no! that would mean disloyalty. 
Though life pay the penalty, I must 
stand ; and I stood, but with head high 
and ever higher, nostrils dilated, and 
my breath coming in puffs, dreading 
there in the darkness, I knew not what. 

My wild imaginings had not been 
wholly without reason. Our carriage 
had been overturned, my master thrown 
under the strange horses, and my mis- 
tress, in a most unaccountable way, 
wedged in between my feet. A single 
misstep, and I would doubtless have 
crushed her under my hoofs. I could 
feel her against my fetlocks. Through 
all my fear I realized that to move 
would endanger her. Then it became 
164 


clear to me that to release her I must 
move one of my feet. Still trembling 
violently, I lifted my hoof cautiously, 
feeling my way over her with a care 
and gentleness born of years of kind 
treatment. My mistress was free, and 
was the first to come to me, feeling about 
in the darkness for my bridle, which 
she finally reached with difficulty, and 
drew down my high-poised head. Her 
presence brought a certain sense of 
relief, especially as I heard her kind 
though agitated voice in attempt to 
quiet me. 

Meanwhile the strange horses stamped 
restlessly, and I heard strange tones in 
excited conversation. I listened for my 
master’s voice, for it had been silent 
since that first hurried “ Stand still.” 
Again a rush of foreboding rushed over 
165 


me, in spite of my mistress’s hand on 
my neck. 

At last he joined in the talk, and 
knowing he was safe, I gave one long, 
shrill neigh of thanks. 

I never knew just how he had man- 
aged to free himself, but gathered 
enough from subsequent recitals to 
learn that he had been in the greater 
danger, and that his presence of mind, 
combined with his remarkable strength, 
had served him well. 

Our carriage had received but slight 
injury, and was soon turned back into 
position once more. Even less damage 
having resulted to the heavier vehicle, 
the cause of our disaster moved away 
in the darkness, leaving us with very 
polite, though most unsatisfactory, ex- 
pressions of regret as > payment for our 


trouble. We, also, were soon wending 
onr way homeward, thankful for our 
escape, which, in my mistress’s words, 
“ was marvelous.” 

As we went along, the bright rim of 
the new moon peeped from behind a 
dark cloud, a token that the pending 
storm had passed, that that night’s 
troubles were over. 

Some two years later, the miller, 
for reasons doubtless wise, but which I 
have never been able to understand, 
sold me to a man living in a distant 
city. 

This parting with the good miller 
and his family was a sad trial to me, 
and never shall I forget the look of 
regret in his kind eyes as he patted my 
smooth neck in a silent farewell. 

My heart was much too heavy for 
167 


neighing when he left me, and as I, 
realizing that he was no longer my 
master, watched him pass down the 
street and out of sight. 

Thus ends my story as the miller’s 
horse. 



Two years later I was again sold. 
This time it was to the farmer on 
whose farm I have since made my 
home. 


That was a long time ago, however, 
and I am now grown old. Should you 
chance some day to be passing this fine 
old farm, mayhap you will see an old 
chestnut horse standing, with her head 
well down, in the wide pasture by the 
roadside. For my head is now often 
bent with its weight of years, but I’m 
not unhappy. Being well fed and well 
cared for, I still make a good carriage 
horse for the ladies of the farm, with 
whom I am quite a favorite. It is sur- 
prising how, when put into harness, 
the spirit of my coltish days seems to 
return to me, and I still arch my neck 
and step smartly along, — in fancy I 
am young again. In this, as in so many 
other ways, I am like my good mother, 
which, I have heard them say, when 
passed twenty years, would often try 
169 


the sinew of her driver’s arms so that 
he gladly drove her into some fence 
corner to rest them. 

Although many years have passed 
since I was owned the miller, I still 
seem to see his genial face and feel the 
warmth of his friendship ; and never to 
this day do I pass a mill but that the 
smell of grain and the soothing hum 
of machinery 
carries me back 
in fancy to the 
happy time 
when I was the 
miller’s horse. 


170 




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FEB. 24 1902 

FEB. 27 1902 


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